


Don't Turn Around When You Hear Me Tread

by QueenOfAllCorgis



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Ghosts, Haunted House, Horror, M/M, Possession, spookiness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-09-01 03:57:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20251795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfAllCorgis/pseuds/QueenOfAllCorgis
Summary: Ridge Farm was a quaint little place. It looked like it belonged in a fairy tale, beautiful and picturesque.And there was something horribly wrong with it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been on a horror movie kick and this was the result. Maybe it's because I'm seeing Halloween decorations all around :)

Ridge Farm was actually quite quaint. 

It reminded John of the little farm houses in fairy tales. A milkmaid should be humming as she walked through a field of flowers, letting little birds land on her fingers. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it were made out of gingerbread. 

Freddie was a ball of energy, all bright smiles and a bounce in his step. He had been the one most excited about this opportunity. It was an opportunity for them to get out of their comfort zone, to really create something amazing.

However, not all of them were as excited. Roger pitched a whole fit when he was told, not wanting to give up city living to go out into the country. He was still pouting, pulling his fur coat up to burrow into. 

“How adorable,” Freddie cooed, carrying his bag into the door. “It’s just like Paul described it.”

John frowned at the mention of Paul. Something about the man rubbed him the wrong way and he could tell both Brian and Roger felt the same based on their expressions. 

A grumble came from Roger the moment the man in question opened the front door with a smile. Paul waved them in, jabbering on and on about the spacious living room and kitchen. The rest of them followed him in, exhausted from their long drive. 

“The largest bedroom for Freddie of course,” Paul motioned toward the door. “And here is Brian.”

Roger didn’t even wait for Paul to point out his room before he walked in and slammed the door behind him. Annoyed, John followed Paul down the stairs to the tiny basement room and tried not to flinch as the other man patted his shoulder roughly. 

As soon as Paul clomped back up the stairs John felt himself relax. He tossed his bag to the side and fell back on the bed, wincing at the loud squeak. It wasn’t the most uncomfortable bed he had ever laid on but it wasn’t exactly the comfortable feathertop he had been forced to leave behind. 

“So these are your lovely quarters,” he cracked open an eye to see Roger on the stairs, sunglasses still on and fur coat pulled up tight around his throat. “You don’t have the terrifying baby painting that I’ve been graced with however...lucky you.”

“Paul said that I was lucky in fact,” John drawled, getting a scoff in response. “He said the smaller rooms didn’t get as cold but it’s boiling in here so...I suppose that’s true.”

“Boiling? I’m freezing my balls off,” Roger gave an exaggerated shiver. “Must be this blasted country air.”

“Or the hangover you’re still dealing with,” John teased and got a shrug in response. 

“I think Brian’s a little antsy, you know how he is, so he’s gone into town to get us a pizza,” Roger wrapped his arms around his stomach. “I told him you’d want extra anchovies and no cheese.”

“Exactly.”

Roger gave him a grin and started climbing up the stairs. “Also, I found a bottle of whiskey if you want to do something other than sulk in your room.”

“You didn’t tell Brian to get that pizza, did you?” John sat up when Roger just kept walking. “Roger! Tell me you didn’t!”

He did manage to get upstairs, accepting the glass that Roger had already poured for him. The drummer was still wrapped up in his coat, cigarette held loosely in one hand and the glass in the other. 

“Where’s Freddie?” John asked, relishing in the burn as he swallowed a gulp. 

“Touring the studio space with  _ Paul _ ,” Roger spat out the other man’s name, rolling his eyes. “Seemed a bit eager to spend some time with him if you ask me. Hard to believe anyone would want to be with that wanker.”

John hummed and nodded. He had seen the looks between Paul and Freddie and they had made his stomach twist. It wasn’t because they were both men, that was something they all knew about Freddie (his worst kept secret in fact) and none of them cared. He just wished that his friend would have found someone less nasty to latch onto. 

“”So, you think this will really help us write the next great album?” Roger asked, sipping on his drink. 

“I hope so,” John sighed. 

The spent a nice quiet evening in, eating pizza and getting a bit tipsy on whiskey. By the time John lay down in bed he didn’t even think about sleeping in a strange place. He just easily slipped into a deep sleep. 

A thud brought him back to a half awake, fuzzy state. John blinked a few times, trying to clear his head. He heard the sound again and sat up to turn on the bedside light. The lamp flickered to life and his heart leapt into his chest. 

Roger stood in the corner of his room, hand clumsily pulling at the chest of drawers. 

“Fucking Christ Rog, what the hell are you doing?” John gasped out, heart pounding painfully. The other man didn’t respond and John saw his blank eyes and slack face. “Roger?”

Still no response. 

“Are you fucking sleepwalking?” John threw the thin sheet aside and got to his feet, annoyed. He stormed over and grabbed Roger’s shoulder, shaking him. Despite the almost stifling heat in the basement the drummer’s skin was cool and clammy. “Roger!” 

Roger blinked and then swayed. Awareness flickered in his eyes and then his face screwed up in confusion. “What...wh-”

“You’re sleepwalking, nearly scared the life out of me,” John chuckled but Roger just blinked at him, still not all awake. “Come on, I gotta make sure you get to your bloody room. Don’t want you ending up on the roof or something.”

Roger just hummed, following almost dreamily as John led him up the stairs. It was a bit disconcerting to see his brash, loud friend so void of emotion and life. Roger looked like a zombie, body moving jerkily like a puppet. 

“What’s going on?” Brian cracked his own door open, blinking sleepily at them. 

“Roger’s sleepwalking,” John jerked his head towards Roger who just stumbled into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. 

Brian grumbled, brushing his hand through his wild hair. “He’s been knocking on my wall almost nonstop. It’s been driving me crazy. Thanks for coming and waking him up.”

With a shrug and a nod, John walked back downstairs and fell into bed. He glanced at the chest of drawers and frowned. How could Roger have been banging on the wall if he were down in the basement?

Maybe they should lay off on the whiskey. 


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes, Brian’s world went grey.

Colors seemed dim, music sounded dull, and even sensations were not as sharp. It was like he was living in a bubble, unable to truly interact with the outside world. It was suffocating.

When he was younger his parents had taken him to doctors, scared that their son sometimes just seemed to drift. As a teenager he even took medication for the depression, but it didn’t really help. Brian just learned to accept that sometimes the world would jut be a bit darker.

Maybe it was because he had hardly slept. Between his mind not allowing him to drift off and Roger banging on the wall he was well and truly exhausted. The dark clouds gathering in the early morning light didn’t help either.

The door creaked open, making him open his eyes and blink blearily. At first, he saw nothing but the dark hallway but then Roger squeezed through the gap.

“Budge over,” the blond grumbled as he climbed into bed next to him.

It wasn’t the first time they had slept in the same bed, not even close. Usually they fell into bed together after a drunken night or hyped on post show adrenaline. This wasn’t about a frantic rush to orgasm; it was about comfort. In fact, Brian wasn’t even sure if he had ever cuddled up next to Roger.

“What’s going on?” He grumbled. “You’re not sleepwalking again, are you?”

“I don’t sleepwalk,” Roger sighed into the pillow. “I just don’t want to sleep in that bloody room. It’s fucking freezing and…I don’t like it.”

There was a pause and Brian heard the slight tremble in his voice. He sat up to look at the other man, frowning at him. Roger was curled up with his back facing him, blanket pulled up to his chin but his feet peeking out.

“What’s this?” Brian asked, pulling the blanket up and looking at Roger’s ankle. The skin just above the ankle was badly bruised, it even looked burned a bit. Most disturbingly, it looked like finger marks.

“I…don’t know…” Roger mumbled, still not looking at him. “I must have fallen or hit myself sleepwalking.”

“I thought you didn’t sleepwalk,” the teasing tone wasn’t there like he had intended.

“I don’t want to be alone right now,” Roger breathed, sounding scared and small.

Brian shifted closer, wrapping his arms around the smaller man. The grey haze and deep sadness that had been hovering around him lift slightly. He snuggled in closer, hooking his chin over Roger’s shoulder. Roger sighed softly and pressed back, shivering faintly.

“Go back to sleep, okay?” Brian whispered. “Just rest.”

He closed his eyes, tracing little circles on Roger’s soft t-shirt with his fingertips. There was still a pressure in his chest, like the world was pressing down on him, but he ignored it. He had gotten good at ignoring the feeling.

Just as he was about to fall asleep again, just moments from drifting off, Roger jerked in his sleep. It wasn’t like the usual little twitches or spasms that happened when one was falling asleep. It felt like someone had grabbed his ankles and pulled, hard. In fact, Roger was dragged almost half a yard before gasping and scrambling back up to him.

“What in the hell was that?” Brian grabbed at the blond, nervous.

“I…I must have…had one of those falling dreams or something,” Roger panted and wrapped his arms around his middle. “Christ, that scared the shit out of me.”

“Here,” Brian climbed out of bed and went through his drawers before pulling out a small pill bottle. “I take these sometimes if I’m having trouble sleeping. Try one, it could help.”

Roger didn’t say a word, just swallowed the pill dry. He shifted over and curled up next to Brian again, closing his eyes. This time Roger fell into a deep, deep sleep but Brian had a bit of trouble. It was just too damn cold to really fall asleep.

They both stumbled down the stairs at around two that afternoon. Roger was still half asleep, not able to fully shake the medication, and Brian just felt that same exhaustion he had felt earlier. Of all times for these little spells to hit, it seemed hardly fair that it was on their first day at the farm.

“Morning sleepyheads,” John walked out of the kitchen, glass of water in his hand. “I was wondering if you were ever going to wake up.”

“Didn’t sleep well last night, needed to catch up I guess,” Brian mumbled, and Roger nodded.

“No more wandering in the night?” The younger man teased.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Roger answered, pushing past them to wander into the kitchen. “Has Fred decided when he wants to work on songs?”

“He went into town with Paul,” John rolled his eyes and Brian felt a pang of sympathy. He would have been blind to not see the longing glances between John and Freddie and he knew the younger man was heartbroken to see Paul swoop in. “But we can work on something?”

Brian hummed. The last thing he wanted to do was write some songs. He really wanted to curl up in bed, close his eyes, and forget the grey cold world around him for just a bit.

“Or,” a sly smile spread across John’s face. “We can explore for a bit.”

“That sounds far more fun!” Roger appeared behind him, coffee in hand. He still looked tired, but his curiosity had been peaked. “Brian?”

“I’m going to go lay down,” Brian sighed.

“Come on Bri,” Roger lowered his voice, eyes growing soft. “It’ll be fun, it’ll be good to…get out of bed.”

Brian’s bouts of depression weren’t exactly a secret. They knew that sometimes his body and mind would just slow down, dark thoughts swirling dangerously. Freddie would hover, talking constantly to help distract him. John would sit with him quietly, just offering companionship. Roger would take him by the hand and encourage him to go somewhere with him.

It was nice, knowing that they were there for him. His friends wanted him to be happy but knew that sometimes he wasn’t. In those times they were just happy to support him through the darkness.

“Fine,” he smiled wanly at the relief in Roger’s eyes.

They wandered through the little house, peeking into cabinets and through the trinkets. The living room was spacious and comforting, full of plush couches. The kitchen was homey and had everything they needed.

It wasn’t until they went upstairs that things started to feel weird.

John pushed open Roger’s door and paused, something uneasy on his face. The room itself looked a lot like Brian’s grandmother’s home. There was flowery wallpaper and lacy curtains. There was a painting of a truly creepy baby and a few photographs on the walls as well.

“See? Who the hell could sleep here?” Roger grumbled. “It’s bloody freezing.”

There was a faint chill in the air but nothing too extreme. Roger however looked incredibly uncomfortable, arms wrapped tight around his stomach. Shivers almost wracked his slender frame.

“I thought you were joking about the baby,” John chuckled awkwardly but looked uncomfortable as well. “Is yours similar Brian?”

“A bit,” Brian frowned and stepped out of the room, chest feeling tight. The other two followed him out and they continued through the rest of the house. The other rooms had a similar feel and John’s tiny basement room made him feel queasy.

When they walked down the stairs Roger paused and made his way to the chest of drawers in the corner. He trailed his fingers along the wood and tried to open a drawer. “It’s locked.”

“That’s the drawer you were feeling up last night,” John mentioned, pulling on the handle as well. “I don’t have a key or anything so I don’t know how to open it.”

Roger hummed, frown in place. “It’s weird.”

“Maybe it’s where the previous owners kept all their sex toys,” John quipped and got a laugh from Roger. Brian even cracked a smile, following the other two back up the stairs. He did cast one more look behind him at the chest of drawers.

They spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the night listening to their old albums and making lists of things they wanted to keep in the new one and things they wanted to change. Brian found himself laughing and chatting along with the others when Freddie finally stumbled in, eyes glazed with alcohol and arm wrapped around Paul’s shoulders.

“What are you lot doing?” He slurred.

“Working on the album you secluded us here for,” Roger bit back.

Freddie hummed and walked up the stairs. Paul gave them a little smirk and a shrug before following him. He could hear the little huff John made as he snapped his notebook closed, fingers curled on his pencil.

“I’m going to bed.”

The bassist didn’t even wait for a response before hurrying down the stairs. Roger and Brian were left by themselves for a moment before Brian stood up, turning off the record player. “We should probably go to bed too.”

There wasn’t a conversation but Roger went into Brian’s room anyway. Brian hesitated, hovering by the edge of the bed as Roger got comfortable. What was this? Their relationship had only ever been unattached, quick and a way to let off steam. They weren’t in a relationship that led to spending the night together.

“Stop thinking too much,” Roger mumbled, eyes already sliding closed. “Just get into bed.” Brian huffed but got into bed as well. He fell asleep to the soft sound of Roger’s breathing.

_Here I stand _

_Here I stand _

_Looked around around around around around _

_But you won’t see me_

Brian started away, heart in his throat. He could hear the music drifting up the stairs and the faint scratch of the record player. Confused, he glanced to Roger and saw him still asleep.

Maybe he hadn’t turned off the record player like he thought. The old thing must be malfunctioning.

He was annoyed as he walked down the stairs and into the living room. The record player barely scratched as he lifted the needle and he rubbed the back of his neck, stifling a yawn, before turning to make his way back to his room.

_Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t feel no pain _

_With the rain running down my face_

At the sudden sound he jumped and spun around. What the hell was going on? Fear made his throat tight and he crept towards the record player, leaning down to unplug it entirely. Brian stared at it for another long moment and then he started towards the stairs again.

_Now I’m here now I’m here_

_Think I’ll stay around around around around around_

Brian let out a strangled gasp and spun around, stumbling slightly. How in the hell had that happened? He had unplugged it! But still, the record spun and music came. Panicked, Brian hurried forward and pulled the record off the player all together. He took a few steps back, holding the record to his chest and breathing hard.

“I just need to sleep…” he whispered to himself, shaking his head. “It’s too fucking quiet out here…I just need to sleep.”

He was a rational man, someone who believed in science above all else. Still, Brian hurried up the stairs as quickly as he could and held Roger tight to him when he managed to get into bed.


	3. Chapter 3

He could do this.

He could.

Hell, he had slept in his own room since he was a little boy and now he was having trouble?

It was humiliating.

Roger squeezed his eyes closed tight, muscles clenched in a desperate attempt to not shiver in the cold. The room felt positively frigid, like he was laying in an icebox. No amount of blankets seemed to make a difference.

What he really wanted to do was pressed against Brian’s sleep warm body. He wanted to feel strong slender arms wind their way around his waist and a nose press into his hair. However…he had already slept in Brian’s bed the past three nights and couldn’t bring himself to do it again. How many friends with benefits also shared a bed? He wasn’t even entirely sure what their relationship was but it wasn’t the falling asleep in each other’s arms kind…no matter how much he wanted it to be.

Then, someone slid into the bed behind him and he smiled.

Speak of the devil.

“Couldn’t stay away?” Roger asked, a grin on his face as a large hand pressed into his hip.

He felt a pair of lips on the back of his neck.

“Sure you want to do that here? While we’re being watched by that creepy baby?” He teased. “Didn’t know you were such a pervert Brian May.”

He turned around, ready to press his lips against Brian’s and hopefully initiate some fun, when he was met with…nothing.

There was not a soul in the bed beside him.

The place where the hand had been…where he was convinced the hand had been, still felt warm with the lingering touch. The back of his neck tingled with the memory of a kiss.

For a long, long moment Roger just stared at the empty space next to him. His heart began to pound painfully in his chest and his breathing quickened. Although the space was empty next to him, there was still a dent in the pillow like someone was lying on it.

Then what felt like a finger brushed along his cheek.

It was like lightning raced through his body. Roger jumped from the bed, stumbling as his legs got tangled up in his sheets, and staggered for the door. Wrenching it open felt like being able to breathe again and he practically leapt into the hallway.

He barely made it a step out before arms wound around his waist and pulled him back, door slamming shut behind him. Desperately, Roger kicked and scratched but his frantic hits didn’t land on anything. Instead the…thing pulled him back into the room.

So, he screamed.

He screamed until his throat burned, until his entire being vibrated with the force of it. Desperate, praying for someone to hear him.

The door slammed open and everything stopped. Phantom hands vanished, leaving him to fall like a puppet with the strings cut. As soon as his knees hit the floor he crawled frantically towards the door, desperate to get out.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He ran into a pair of knees and wrapped his arms around them, sobbing hard. The person standing by the door stumbled slightly and then kneeled down in front of him. “Roger? Fucking hell, Rog!”

The shout startled him out of his panic, and he looked up to see Freddie’s wide, worried eyes staring at him. He dissolved into sobs, still trying to get out of the room.

“I…I c-can’t…I…fuck!” He choked out, hearing Brian’s door open as well as John coming up the stairs. “It was t-touching me!”

“What was?” Freddie asked.

“I don’t know!” The last word came out in a wail and Roger forced himself to stand on shaking legs. He felt almost hysterical, breathing hard and trembling all over. “There’s something in there and…we need to go. I’m not fucking staying here. We need to go!”

“Roger,” Brian stepped forward, stumbling a bit when Roger basically threw himself into his arms. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“It was touching me,” he shuddered. “I could feel it’s hands on me an then it kept pulling me back. I’m not going in there. No.”

The arms around him were confusing. Part of him relished in the feeling of Brian holding him but the rest of him hated the memory of whatever _it_ was touching him.

“You had a nightmare and-“

“No! It wasn’t a nightmare!” Roger argued back but Brian just kept rubbing his back. Suddenly he felt overwhelmed, panic clawing up his throat, and he shoved Brian away. “It wasn’t.”

“Okay,” Brian smiled but he hated the slightly patronizing tone to his voice. With a snarl Roger shoved him again and glared. “Come on, bunk with me.”

Normally, he would have jumped on the chance to curl up next to Brian and forget what had happened. Then he remembered the way the arms felt twisting around him and felt sick at the idea of laying next to _anyone_ in bed.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he stomped down the stairs, leaving his confused bandmates standing at the top of the steps. He fell onto the couch and grabbed one of the many quilts hanging off a chair.

“You’re really going to sleep on the couch?” Brian shouted down the steps and he scowled.

Of course sensible, scientific Brian would think he was being irrational.

“Yup!”

They spoke softly, too quiet for Roger to make out the words, before door started closing upstairs as well. He settled down on the leather couch, closing his eyes but knowing there was no way he could possibly go back to sleep.

John made his way to his own room, pausing briefly above Roger on the couch. The drummer kept his eyes closed and hoped that the younger man would just walk on by.

“I believe you,” John whispered, making him snap his eyes open.

“What?”

“There’s something weird in this house,” he sat up fully to stare at John, relieved that he looked entirely seriously. “I’ve felt it too…I’m sure the other two have as well but they’re not admitting it.”

Roger sagged against the back of the couch, relief flooding through him. “I thought I was going completely mad.”

“If you’re going crazy so I am,” John gave him a wan smile. “I would…stay out of that room though.”

“Deaks, nothing on this earth could get me to step through that door again.”


	4. Chapter 4

It was strange to see Roger like this.

The blond was usually a mess of confidence, brashness, and just incredible energy. He was used to seeing a fury filled Roger pitching a fit or arguing until he was blue in the face. He wasn’t used to the drummer sitting quietly on his stool, dark circles obvious against his pale skin.

After that night when Roger had his nightmare he hadn’t once gone back to his room. He had made himself a little nest of blankets and stubbornly slept in them, glaring at Brian and Freddie when they teased him. It was obvious that even though he had changed where he slept he still wasn’t sleeping much.

It was obvious in how he missed his entrance for the fourth time.

“For fuck’s sake!” Freddie exploded, slamming his hand into the music stand and startling the others. “Jesus Christ Roger!”

“I’m sorry,” blue eyes were huge and nervous.

“You’d better be sorry! You’re wasting all our fucking tape,” Freddie spun around, teeth bared and eyes dark. “Because of fucking, little mistakes.”

“Come on now Fred,” Brian drawled, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, so you think he did well? Does he perform that shit when you two are _fucking?_” Freddie huffed out a short laugh at the shocked look on Brian’s face. Roger froze on the stool, jaw dropping open. “Like we didn’t know. You’re not that sneaky.”

“Fred,” Brian’s voice was low and dangerous.

“Freddie, cut this shit out,” John spoke up, wanting to get in between him and Roger. The anger and venom in his voice was so unlike the kind man he knew. “He’s tired, we all are.”

A sneer twisted at his face. “Of course he’s tired. _Ghosts_ are attacking him.”

Roger flinched at that and a movement in the sound booth captured his attention for a moment. Paul stepped into the light, icy eyes fixed on the group. Irritation made John’s jaw clench and he turned on Freddie, pulling his shoulders back. 

“You’re being an ass,” he snapped. “And you’re being completely irrational.”

“I’m being irrational? Look what’s happened to this band,” Freddie waved his hands around. “Roger’s become a fucking little mouse of a man, scared of his own shadow. We’re lucky if Brian even gets out of bed in the damn morning and if he does he’s moping around and-“

“That’s enough,” Brian bit out. His cheeks were red with anger. They had known for years about Brian’s depression, had supported him through it, and for Freddie to spit that at him like a weapon was frankly disgusting. “I think we’re done for the day.”

“I’m sorry, is our recording schedule getting in the way of your sex life?” Freddie hissed as Paul stepped into the room. “Are you two-“

He was interrupted by Roger standing up, knocking the cymbal down with a crash. The younger man shoved past Paul and out the door. After half a heartbeat, Brian put his guitar down and shot Freddie a dirty look before following him.

“Was I in the wrong?” Freddie had the audacity to look surprised, turning to John in support. “He was playing like shit. They shouldn’t be fucking all-“

“Obviously they’re…they…shit Freddie, they’re your friends. Their relationship is obviously something they wanted to keep between them and you used it to hurt them,” John snarled, putting his bass up. “They’re both struggling and you’re just being a fucking ass.”

“You believe Rog then, that ghosts are messing with them?”

“I don’t know!” He wasn’t about to give Freddie any more ammunition. “I do know that they are my friends and are clearly having a hard time. I’m here to support them, what about you?”

“I’m here to record an album,” Freddie narrowed his eyes. “And I’m not letting anyone drag us down.”

As he spoke Paul put a hand on his shoulder and smiled at John, causing a shiver to run down his spine. He shook his head and walked towards the door as well. He made it to the door before a strong shove hit right in the middle of his back, causing him to stumble forward.

He spun around, ready to clock Freddie for being so immature as to push him, but saw that both he and Paul were on the other side of the room.

“Be careful there John,” Paul said with a smile.

The chill stayed in his bones for the entire walk across the small garden to the main house. He made it to the door before hushed voices met his ears and he paused.

“Seriously Brian, let me go,” Roger’s voice shook and his heart broke at his friend’s clear distress.

“I just…I just don’t understand,” Brian said softly.

“What is there to understand? This little…thing we’ve been doing? It’s done,” his voice was hard and angry. “It was stupid…something stupid we did when we were drinking and we just got…comfortable. It’s stupid and it’s sick and it’s-“

“Stop,” he could hear the tears in Brian’s voice. “Roger, stop. It’s not that, you know that. Just-“

“It’s done Brian,” Roger snapped.

John felt tears burn in his own eyes. Of course he had known about the worst kept secret in the band. He had also seen how Roger smiled brighter and Brian seemed to lighten when he stepped into the room. Roger’s furious moods could be calmed by just a gentle touch from the guitarist and Brian’s dark days lifted when the drummer was around him. He had hoped that Freddie would have seen that as well.

“Roger, please,” Brian’s voice drifted away, and he could tell they were walking away from the entrance to the house.

As quietly as he could, he slipped down the stairs into his room. It felt like everything was collapsing around them. Going to Ridge Farm had seemed like a fresh start, a way for them to create a truly amazing album. Instead, it might actually be the death of the band and that was a terrifying thought.

He flopped back on his bed, eyes burning with tears as he stared up at the ceiling. Queen had been home to him, a true family, and he was seeing it slip away. John sighed and turned onto his side, pulling his knees up slightly when something caught his eyes.

The top drawer was open.

The drawer that Roger had sleepily pulled at and that had been locked for as long as he had been there was open. Frowning, John pushed himself to his feet and walked over to it.

The drawer was mostly empty, the bottom of it covered in a thin layer of dust and a few dead bugs. Sitting in the middle of the drawer was a small book with a plain brown leather cover. Curious, John picked it up and turned it over in his hand.

The drawer slammed shut, startling John and making him jump back. He held the book to his chest and stared down at the drawer, trying it again and finding it locked.

“Okay…okay,” he whispered. “I get it. You’re trying to help, right? Something is wrong in this house and…you’re trying to help?”

The handle rattled.

“Is it trying to hurt us?” Another rattle. “And this book will…help?”

The handle rattled slightly and his heart slammed against his chest. This was insane, this had to be insane. He couldn’t be talking to…no…that was completely mad. He felt slightly breathless as he sat back on the bed and looked at the book in his hands.

But…maybe an insane situation called for an insane solution?

John opened the book, frowning as the pages cracked slightly with age. It looked to be a journal written with a neat hand, words compact and straight on the page.

_The Personal Journal of Gerald Lortay_

_June 4, 1954_

_We just arrived at Ridge Farm and I must say this place is truly magical!_


	5. Chapter 5

Ridge Farm was _old._

That was what John had figured out from spending all night reading through Gerald’s journal. The original farmhouse was built hundreds of years ago in the medieval era. Bits and pieces had been added on throughout the centuries but some of the original stones still stood.

Gerald had been a farm hand in the fifties, hired on to take care of the farm along with two other men during the summer when the wealthy landowners went to the coast. He along with the two others, Erik and Victor, moved in and the journal was started.

In the beginning of the journal Gerald was excited and enthusiastic about his job. He had moved from the big city, excited to move away from his parents and start his own work. Apparently, his father had returned from the war and had seemed different, different enough that he nervous to be around him.

He and Erik struck up a quick friendship which turned into something more, something romantic. In fact, Gerald’s sweet confessions of love reminded John of a sappy romance novel. It was endearing to read about how Gerald fell head over heels in love.

Half of the journal passed in sweet, loving stories of picnicking in the meadows and sharing kisses under the stars.

Then it changed.

Gerald started writing about how Erik had changed somewhat. He had become depressed and pushed aside his lover, choosing instead of hide away in his room. Gerald had been worried, writing about how he was seeing “less and less of Erik every day”.

While this was happening things started changing with Victor as well. The other man was starting to get aggressive. Gerald wrote about how he would hit the animals or curse at them, spitting insults and angry words. It seemed like Gerald was almost scared of him; scared of Victor and something else as well.

Because there was something else.

Something in that house was terrifying him.

Gerald’s writing became nervous and choppy as he talked about how things had changed. He talked about how things changed and how he was honestly scared out of his mind. The last entry was scribbled quickly, words pointed and jagged.

_All dead. Everyone is dead. I am next. If you are reading this you have to leave. May God have mercy on us. _

Just reading the words, seeing the ink smeared from what was clearly tears, sent a chill down John’s spine. The words reeked of desperation and terror. Something terrible happened and the three men suffered for it.

They tumbled around in his head as he went throughout the day. He was reminded of them during their practicing and as they just went about their day. They swirled and swirled until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hey,” John called out, jogging after Freddie as they finished recording a bit. Paul paused as well, eyes flickering towards John and sending a shiver down his spine. “Fred, can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Sure,” for the first time in a long time Freddie seemed to be in a pleasant mood.

“Alone?”

The question was aimed at Paul who huffed and then narrowed his eyes as Freddie waved him off. The Irishman hesitated and then slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him. Instantly, the air in the room felt lighter and cleaner. It was like the air was easier to breathe.

“What’s going on?” Freddie cocked his head, eyes full of concern and John had to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. This was the Freddie he knew.

How the hell was he supposed to ask what he wanted to know?

“Do you feel different?”

That apparently wasn’t what Freddie expected to hear. His brow creased in confusion and his head cocked to the side. “Different how?”

“Does this place make you feel different?” John was frustrated at how he couldn’t get the words out.

“Is this the ghost nonsense that Roger is all freaked out about?” Freddie laughed, his normally charming laugh changing into something dark for a moment. “I’m maybe feeling a bit stressed and overworked but…nothing out of the ordinary.”

John paused for a moment before throwing himself forward and wrapping his arms around the older man’s neck. Freddie paused and then returned the hug, body trembling slightly. Things seemed to change then. The lead singer pulled him in close and shook harder.

“I’m scared.”

The words were weak and strained, barely audible, but John still heard them. He pulled back, desperate to see Freddie’s eyes but instead saw…nothing.

“What?”

Freddie frowned in confusion. “What?”

“What did you just say?” John kept his hands on Freddie’s forearms but Freddie just smiled and shook his head

“Nothing, I didn’t say anything,” Freddie laughed. “Now, what’s going on with you?”

John wanted to tell him that it was all going to be okay. He wanted to tell him that he knew something dark and evil was going on but then he glanced up and saw blue eyes through the sound booth window.

Paul.

“Nothing,” John smiled. “Just know that I’m worried about you, yeah? Brian, Roger and I want you to be happy and healthy.”

Freddie frowned a bit and opened his mouth to speak before he was interrupted by Paul. “Freddie? Someone on the phone for you.”

With an apologetic shrug and a kiss to the forehead, Freddie walked out of the room. John let out a shaky breath and met the gaze of the Irishman who was still staring him down. Despite the intense cold that ran through him John didn’t break the stare.

Paul wasn’t going to hurt them.

The rest of the day John reread the journal and made a few notes. Maybe he was obsessing over it but it was his only clue. He read far into the night, falling asleep with the journal in one hand and his own notebook in the other.

A rattling sound startled him awake and he sat bolt upright, clutching the journal to his chest. His breath caught in his throat and his heart seemed to stutter. Right across from him was a young man, grabbing at the chest of drawers and sobbing.

He was wearing dark trousers and a white shirt which John realized was covered in blood. Nausea burned in his throat as he shakily got to his feet. The man didn’t seem to notice but managed to wrench open the dresser and shove a small book in.

A thud came from upstairs and the man froze, panicked eyes shooting up to the ceiling. “Oh…no, no, no.”

The man’s voice went high and shaky, breaking as he sobbed and John realized who he was.

“Gerald?”

Nothing. The man didn’t seem to notice. He shoved the drawer closed and ran up the stairs, breath coming out choppy and panicked. John hesitated before following behind him, heart pounding against his ribs.

He almost halfway to the stairs before frantic begging screams and what sounded like a struggle came from upstairs. He heard two men shouting, one begging the other to _stop_ to _just listen_. Then he heard a cry and a series of thuds before a form came tumbling down.

Gerald landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, neck twisted at a horrible angle. He let out a few shaky gasps before going still. His eyes stared blankly up, horror still etched in them even as the life flowed out of them.

Oh God.

He was seeing the last moments of the other men who had lived here.

He was in a memory.

It didn’t seem possible, it couldn’t be, but it was.

As carefully as he could, John stepped around the too still body and crept up the stairs. He passed by Brian’s room, sickened to see another man lying in a pool of his own blood in the bed, and then continued as if in a trance to Freddie’s.

“It’ll be okay. Just jump and we’ll be okay,” a calm, soothing voice came from behind the door.

“I…I didn’t…I didn’t mean to,” another voice choked out.

“I know love, just jump,” there was a moment of silence before a sickening thud made John flinch. His throat felt tight and his skin felt clammy, sweat gathering at his hairline. A few moments of absolute silence passed before the door swung open and he met the eyes of the man on the other side.

It was like electricity flashed through him, jolting him from head to toe. John jumped, eyes snapping open to see the ceiling of his little basement bedroom, and gasped frantically for breath.

He was safe.

He was safe in his bed.

It was just a dream.

But he couldn’t shake the piercing eyes that had stared him down from that open door. Blue, icy eyes filled with the darkest evil he could imagine.

Paul’s eyes.


End file.
